Fat Boy
by MourningDove
Summary: A sympathetic look at Dudley, because it hasn't been done before.


Disclaimer: The Hairy Pothead books belong to J.F.K. Drawling, and the song belongs to Jewel. It's 'Fat Boy' from her album 'Spirit' (wonderful album, not quite as good as 'Pieces of You' which EVERYONE should have a copy of). And I am not making any money off of this, although I sincerly wish I was.  
  
Warning: This is a bit depressing, with some suicide contemplation and the obligatory slashy undertones. And. Yeah. Enjoy!  
  
Dedicated to: PNC, for saying "hey! write a dudley fic to 'fat boy!'" ...and then for bugging me 'till I actually sat down and wrote the damn thing, and THEN beta-ing the whole thing, which means I get to blame all the mistakes on HER! Bwahahahaha! I mean...yeah.  
  
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Fat boy goes to the pool  
  
Sees his reflection, doesn't know what to do  
  
He feels little inside and filled with pride  
  
Oh, fragile flame  
  
No one sees the same  
  
I don't like looking into the mirror. I never have. It's useless, a waste of my time--it's not like I ever forget how round my face is, how small my eyes look, how my forehead looms over my nose which is dwarfed by the roundness of my cheeks. I don't like looking into the mirror, I never have--I don't like being reminded of how hideous I am. I don't like to look into the mirror.  
  
Harry has always been a skinny boy. I started eating more because he couldn't and I could make him jealous, I could make little precious Harry jealous of me. Mum and Dad always smile at me when I make Harry mad.   
  
Harry has always been a skinny boy. Skinny, with a mop of hair and a pinched sort of face and I have always been jealous of him and he makes me mad. I'm mad all the time at Harry, I eat to make him jealous I eat and eat and glare at him for being perfect.  
  
Hush, sleep, don't think, just eat  
  
You're daddy's little boy  
  
Your mama's pride and joy  
  
You know they love ya  
  
But not because they hold ya  
  
I don't remember Harry's parents, but I saw a picture of them once. A family reunion of Mum's side--just before Grandmum died, a few months before perfect Harry came and destroyed my life. Mum was holding me, with Dad's arm around her shoulder. She looked like she was stretched so tight she couldn't get any thinner, and Dad was glaring at the couple next to them. Harry's dad--I never did figure out what his name was--had his arm around his wife, too, and they were both smiling at each other with Harry asleep in his mum's arms.  
  
Mum found me looking at the picture when I was five, and she picked it up out of my hand and looked at me and didn't say anything at all which is unusual for her. She looked at it and looked at me and said, "You used to be so pretty."  
  
I love you, Mum, I love you Dad, just let me eat and concentrate on this food in my mouth let me surround myself with my toys and my TVs and my games and concentrate on Harry be better than Harry let me ignore you with your hands glued to your sides let me ignore you, please, you cut into my flesh my over abundant flesh you make me bleed, I used to be pretty.  
  
  
  
Fat boy says "Wouldn't it be nice  
  
If I could melt myself like ice  
  
Or outrun my skin and just be pure wind"  
  
Oh, fragile flame  
  
Sometimes I feel the same  
  
And one day I will, I will cut into my flesh the way they do when they ignore how much I eat how much I weigh how they have to special order my clothes.  
  
And one day I will make one cut into my flesh for each time they've avoiding looking at me, one cut for each time I've been laughed at during school or been pointed at in the store, and I will make one cut for each time my friend have called me 'Porker' or made jokes about me being too big for my britches--and I will make two cuts for Harry. One for how beautifully skinny he is, for how Mum and Dad starve him because I eat too much, and one for how much I wish that I was like him. Two cuts for Harry, one across each wrist.   
  
And maybe it will all bleed out of the cuts I make. Maybe my fat and my ugly will drip from my body like my blood, maybe I will be left small and surrounded by fat ugly red and I will be like Harry, skinny and beautiful and alone.   
  
And one day I will, one day I will say goodbye to being mean to Harry and stuffing my face with his jealousy, one day I will say goodbye to mirrors and needing to be hugged and unfriendly friends, one day I will say goodbye. But not today.  
  
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If you review, I'll be happy. And when I'm happy, I write. Which is weird, because so much of my writing is depressing. So. If you have anything to say or suggest--or requests for future fics, I would LOVE to hear from you! Thanks!  
  
~~Dove 


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